She had eradicated all the tangles and was brushing smoothly by the time the young monk knocked again. She opened the door quickly and beckoned for him to enter, aware of the automatic way his eyes fastened on her unbound hair. He was carrying an armload of short, fat candles in the crook of his elbow and a freshly lit one in his free hand. He stepped inside the chamber door and stopped, his eyes roaming around the tiny room, looking for someplace to deposit his burden. Jessie waved an arm to indicate the space in which they stood.
“There is no room for anything in here. Is there by chance a larger room nearby? One with a table?”
The young guard blinked at her, his eyes vacant in thought, and then he nodded. “Brother Preceptor’s cell is larger, my lady, and it has a table. And a chair.”
She waited, but he said no more, so she prompted him. “And is it nearby? Do you think I might use it for a short time?”
He frowned slightly, clearly not knowing what to make of her request, and so she prodded him again.
“I will not take long. And you did say my good-brother asked that I join him quickly, did you not?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Well then, the quicker I can make myself presentable, the quicker I can meet him. Where is the Brother Preceptor’s cell?”
“This way, my lady.” He stepped out into the passageway and waited while she bundled up the contents of her little satchel and replaced them to take with her. When she was ready, he led her along the passageway to the left, where he stopped outside a door that stood ajar. “This is it, my lady.”
She held her candle high, peering around the preceptor’s cell. It was just as Spartan as the one she had left, and barely larger, no more than one third again as long, but it had two small tables ranged against the end wall, opposite the foot of the narrow bed. One of them was only large enough to hold the wash bowl and tall ewer that stood on it, but the other was larger, with an elaborate little ink horn and a matching horn cup containing several goose quills placed neatly on one side, and a plain wooden chair set in front of it.
“Perfect,” Jessie said, crossing quickly to the table with the wash bowl. “Oh, it’s empty.” She turned back to the monk, who had set down his own candle and was carefully placing the six fresh ones he had brought side by side, upright, on the table’s surface. “Would it be possible for you to find me some water, Brother, and a towel? I would dearly love to wash my face.”
The man was evidently growing accustomed to her requests, for he simply nodded this time and reached over to pick up the ewer. He hesitated.
“I will have to go to the kitchens for the water, my lady. Would you like me to have it heated for you?”
“I would mention your name in my prayers for a month if you could do that for me.”
“Thank you, my lady. It is Giles. I will return directly.”
As the door closed behind him, Jessie used her candle to light the others he had brought, and when they were all burning she ranged them along the back of the table before sitting down and spreading the contents of her little bag across the tabletop. She peered at herself again in the small mirror, tilting its shining surface this way and that to take full advantage of the increased brightness, and then she propped it against one of the candles and used her brush to part her hair carefully down the center of her scalp and pull it forward to hang in front of her. That done, she began to braid, her fingers moving quickly and with the confidence of years of practice. When she had completed the second braid, she checked them with the aid of the mirror and then rolled each one up in a flat coil, fastening it in place with long hairpins she thrust through the coiled braids, and she finally secured the entire mass to the sides of her head with long, curved, and intricately carved combs of tortoiseshell. She shook her head tentatively, watching in the small mirror, and then again more firmly. Satisfied when nothing moved, she then covered the entire mass with a delicate net of gold wire studded with tiny beads of amber, and pinned the net into place with four more small hairpins. Her next examination in the mirror was highly critical, but she could find nothing wrong. Not a single stray wisp of hair marred her work.
Now she stood up and began the almost impossible task of checking the appearance of her clothing. She had slept in her gown and accepted that there was nothing she could do about the wrinkles in the fabric, so she set about looking for stains and marks, scrubbing at the material with her hairbrush whenever she found anything she thought might be improved, and while she was doing that Brother Giles reappeared, carrying a pitcher of steaming water wrapped in a towel. He was accompanied this time by a second brother, this one wearing a cook’s apron and carrying a second, similar burden, the rolled towel held under one arm.
“I brought both hot and cold, my lady, which will permit you to mix the waters to your pleasure.”
“God bless you, Brother Giles, and you, Brother Cook. And two towels. And even soap! You have saved my life and my sanity between you.”
Both men beamed with pleasure, but neither one made any move to leave, and Jessie smiled at them. “Now I require but two more things of you, Brother Giles: a few moments of privacy in which to bathe my hands and face, and then the pleasure of your company as I go to find my husband’s noble brother, for I confess I have no slightest notion of where to find the admiral. Will you wait for me and attend me?”
“Most certainly, my lady.” Brother Giles looked at his companion and jerked his head towards the door, and both men left the room, closing the door behind them.
Jessie poured hot water into the bowl and then splashed in a little of the cold. She soaked one of the towels and rubbed some of the harsh, lye-scented soap into it, and wrung it out again before washing her face, hands, and arms with it, reveling in the clean, tingling sensation produced by the hot, astringently soapy water and the feel of the heated cloth against her skin. She dried herself with the second towel, then hesitated, and quickly undid the bindings of her bodice, pulling the laces wide and shrugging out of the garment so that it hung about her waist. The tips of her breasts tingled pleasurably as she wiped them with the hot, soapy towel, and a rash of goose bumps sprang up along her arms as the cloth brushed her nipples. She reminded herself where she was then, and that her brother-in-law was waiting for her. She wrung out the soap and wrapped the hot towel about her neck, sighing as she reached up to knead her nape beneath the tightly bound mass of her hair. She stood there for a few seconds, her head tilted back and her eyes closed in pleasure.
But then she reminded herself a second time of where she was, half smiling at the impropriety of being half-naked in a monk’s cell, and quickly dried herself and shrugged into her clothes, tightening the laces carefully and decorously. From her satchel she selected a small round, flat black box, and removed a short, thick piece of twig with frayed and shredded ends that lay on a bed of whitish-gray powder. She sucked on the frayed end, wetting it with saliva, then dipped it into the powder and used it to scrub her teeth and gums. She rinsed her mouth with a cupped palm of water from the cold jug and spat into the bowl, then rubbed her tongue over her teeth, dislodging the gritty residue before rinsing and spitting again. That done, she sat down one last time to peer into the mirror.
I look like death. No color at all. God, Marie, where are you when I need your skills? You’re safe, I pray, but you’re not here, so I must serve myself. Quickly now, but sparingly. It would not do to look the harlot in this place.
She opened the last of her packages and took out a number of small decorated wooden boxes with tight-fitting lids. She opened each one and arranged the differently colored pastes in front of her. Holding the mirror in one hand, she worked swiftly and deftly with the other, rubbing the pad of her middle finger lightly against the surface of one paste and then applying the merest trace of bluish color to her eyelids, smoothing the substance in until the only noticeable effect was a heightening of the color and light reflected in her eyes. She wiped her fingertip quickly on the damp towel and selected another box, applying a reddish paste to the skin over her cheekbones and blending it into her skin until there was no sign of it apart from the